Si-LENT-s

Although I'm not Catholic and have no desire for "high church," I do have many non-Catholic friends who regularly observe Lent. I'd thought about it for the last several years but have always felt that I ought to be sacrificial all year round and didn't like the idea of allowing myself to believe that my work was done at Easter. That's not to say that Lent observers feel or think this way, but only that I would be tempted to if I wasn't careful. Along the same lines, however, I have had a difficult time adjusting to my new grown-up single life in the past 8 months, and my spiritual life has taken a real beating. So this year, after some really hard conversations with good friends, I realized that a scheduled sacrifice to recenter my focus might be just what I needed.

Then came the internal conflict about what to give up. It had to be something tangible that I could feel and experience and miss regularly. It also had to be something I could actually do without for forty days. And it had to be something that would help me find and feel God again.

Finally, after a really late night of tears and trying and trembling, it came to me on my way home. I decided to give up listening to the radio in my car. It met all the criteria. With all of my driving back and forth to Beebe at least twice a week, in addition to the driving that I do around Searcy regularly, I could definitely miss it. But I also felt that I had enough self-control to make it through. I also decided that because I didn't want to sweep my house clean only to have seven more demons return, I needed to pray regularly in the car to replace listening to music. This was how I was going to find God again.

Now comes the confession and report on just how well I've done. First of all, I did stick to it. (And since my revelation came about a week too late to begin on Ash Wednesday, I've still got 3 days left.) Some car rides were harder than others, and I didn't always pray as much as I should. But practicing the self-discipline of Silence has really helped. It's helped me be more self-controlled about my eating habits and more self-disciplined about working out. It's helped me to really appreciate and almost look forward to the quiet times when I can just rest and think. I think it's helped me remember more. When I have more room and time to think, I forget fewer things. But the ultimate test is "Has it really brought me closer to my God?" I really think it has. I think the prayer and quiet time has created a way of life for me that reminds me that God is around. I am much more likely to remember to stop and pray than I was at the first of the year. I'm more content (usually). I'm more comfortable being alone and silent (most of the time).

I don't know what will change next week when I'm allowed to listen to the radio again. I hope it's like when I stopped drinking Cokes for a year and a half. Now I can't stand the taste of a regular soft drink. I hope I won't like it anymore. I hope I at least don't want it on all the time. I hope I'll still be able to remember how precious quiet can be and how calming it can be to not have a thousand different inputs in my one tiny brain.

Regardless, God is good. And I can't explain how it wonderful feels to regularly feel Him with me again. So, if the testimony of a Lent neophyte is worth anything, I'm in favor of yearly sacrifice. It's one step closer to the daily sacrifice we're all called to.

Sweet River Fool

When I finally moved into my first grown-up apartment, realized that my budget was still up in the air and that would mean I'd have to wait for a while before committing to a monthly cable bill, my years of studying and keeping busy in college meant that I was actually rather confident in my ability to refrain from television. I'd have movies after all, and could borrow whatever I didn't own, and this would finally give me the time I'd been craving to read whatever I wanted. Another one of those things that they never tell you about growing up is that teachers have to read a ton of stuff they wouldn't necessarily choose to read. About 80% of the material I have taught so far this year was brand new to me, so all that time I thought I'd have to read whatever books I wanted was initially taken up with planning and grading for school, and the time that remained left me so drained of energy that I'd rather sit in front of the tv than expand my literary horizons. I have consequently (yes, Senor Allen, people do use "consequently" in everyday conversations) spent the last six months watching movies and all of the tv series on DVD that I could borrow or get on Netflix. But in the past several weeks, I have finally gotten tired of tv and have returned to my once great love. I haven't read as much as I'd like, but I'm working on it, and the internet is helping me do that.

Sometime last Spring, I got an email from one of my favorite English professors at Harding, letting me know that he had just gotten his novel published. At the time, I was a poor college student, so I saved the email for a time when I'd actually be able to afford to buy it. Last week was exactly the time for it. I dug out that old email and ordered Sweet River Fool by Dr. Larry Hunt.

On Friday afternoon, when I was finally able to pick it up from the post office, I was super excited to delve into this new story. Being on Spring Break this week has given me ample opportunity to read whatever I like, so on Monday morning I finally picked up the tale of Snody (pronounced "Snow-dee"). For those of you who don't know Dr. Hunt, he's a really fun guy with a wide array of interests. (Incidentally, as the Tolkien expert on staff, he was my advisor for my Senior Symposium.) After reading only the "blurb" on the back cover, I knew that this was the perfect combination of his deep south Georgia upbringing and his delightful love of medieval literature. Snody, the protagonist, is a homeless drunk, who after a failed suicide attempt, finds an illustrated book about Saint Francis of Assisi in a dumpster and decides that he is going to model his life after Saint Francis. His story is beautifully woven through the lives of the residents of the small Georgia town of Sweet River, and it is inspiring to see the way this unlikely Christ character touches the lives of so many who are suffering and lonely. The writing has a light, yet tender feel and a subtle morality that makes it difficult to find its equal (or even its younger brother) on my bookshelves. I devoured this story in just a couple of days and slept very well on Tuesday night as I imagined being able to lay my head down in God's lap just like Snody did. I'd recommend this book without hesitation, and am hoping that this won't be the last of Dr. Hunt's books I'll be able to add to my collection. If you're interested, I'm certain that he would love for you to buy your own copy here, or I'd be happy to let you borrow mine.

We Remember

My AP class is studying Hitler's propaganda ministry and the Holocaust in conjunction with a reading of Elie Wiesel's autobiography, Night. It's a heartrending story of this 15 year old Jewish boy's survival of Auschwitz. Wiesel is an incredible man. Since being liberated by American troops in 1945, he has written and published 47 books, holds several degrees (some of which are honorary), has taught at Boston University and Yale, won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1986, and at the age of 82 is still alive today, shouting from the rooftops, doing all he can to ensure that the memories of so many dead will live on.

Tomorrow (assuming that the meteorologists are crazy for predicting that the blizzard of the century will arrive just after midnight) my students will watch Oprah's 2006 interview with Wiesel. This is an incredible viewing. They actually visit Auschwitz (which apparently Wiesel does on a regular basis -- Can you imagine?) over 50 years after the fact, and as if the feeling of the place isn't intense enough, he refuses to speak above a whisper in order to respect the dead.

While doing this study along with my kids, I have been moved to tears several times. This is a tragedy of mammoth proportions that no one should ever have the luxury to forget. Here in the midst of my rambling, I'm reminded of Elie Wiesel's declaration that there simply are no words. No words to describe the horror and anger and grief. No words. So here, at the risk of alluding to Thomas Bowden's "This page is left blank for you" at the end of Beebe High School yearbooks, I'm going to leave the rest of this post blank for the memories of the dead and the grief of the living. May those six million descendants of Abraham never be forgotten.

____________________________________________________________________

Logos

I've thought a lot about the truth of God's power in the spoken (and written) word over the past year or so. I intended to write my Senior Seminar paper in exploration of this idea last fall, but my mentor did not think it was a good idea, so I was pushed in another direction. Nevertheless, the idea of logos, our logo-centric faith, and God's power through the logos permeates my thoughts on a regular basis. A good friend and mentor sent me a link to a phenomenal blog post this morning that I could not leave alone. By far the most personal highlight of my first reading was the following statement: The tightly knotted bond between God and language is the secret truth of all writing. Isn't that profound? Not writing more often is one of my continuous regrets, but I allow life to get in the way too often. I love words, and the beauty that can be found through true self-expression is overwhelming. So, when I can't seem to make time to write myself, reading the words of others expressing profound truth is almost as good.

I'm in a difficult place in my life, and I've been trying really hard to see God working in my life to love me and show me what plans he has made for us. To say that I'm not very good at it would be an understatement. However, one of the ways I find God, his power, and his presence in my life regularly is through words. Whether it's through a song, a prayer, a scripture, or a few words from a sweet student, God is powerful and gracious and faithful, and he knows me. Looking for the secret truth in the writing of others is a balm for the secret longings of my heart, and I thank my creator for speaking so tenderly to me during this, my time of wilderness.

Thanks to all of you who allow God to work through you to minister to me as angels.

Advice from the Pickle Jar

My juniors created autobiographies this week, and one of the requirements was a list of advice to others. It could have been "How to survive being"... a cheerleader, a junior, a football player, a younger sibling, etc. As long as it was something they learned from experience, it was valid. Here's my list.



1. Love like you couldn't breathe otherwise.

2. Don't do it all alone.

3. How things are and how you feel are not often the same.

4. You're not stuck. The only person you can change is yourself, but that doesn't give you the freedom to give up on that change. There's no such thing as "sorry, this is just the way I am."

5. Sometimes things end up better when they don't work out the way you planned.

6. Never let yourself get too busy to play with children and talk to them about their lives.

7. Never underestimate the power God has to create greatness out of the nothingness of your life.

8. Home isn't always a place; sometimes it's just being with the people you love who love you in return.

9. Laugh at yourself

10. Finish Strong.

A week in the life of a first-year English teacher

This week has been pretty crazy so far. I'm surprised by my own ability to miraculously shrug off the embarrassment and stress that have come from certain incidents. Things have happened this week that would usually have meant the end of the world as I knew it, but somehow I've had an attitude that has allowed me to simply laugh at myself. Don't get used to it.

1. I have been in charge of after-school detention this week. That is by no means the end of the world on its own, but when you combine it will all the other things I needed to do, staying for an extra hour after school every day was slightly overwhelming.

Bright Side: I was able to get some work done that I didn't have to take home or stress about the next morning.

2. Tuesday was.........um...........eventful. We only had school for half a day, and most of those 25-minute classes were taken up by school pictures, so the teaching aspect of the day was a complete wash. After the students went home at 12:30, the teachers ate a catered lunch from Pasta Grill, which is a new restaurant in town that I'd been meaning to try. I will definitely be eating there sometime in the near future. The lasagna was excellent, and as it's not my favorite pasta dish, I'm certain that the others must be even better. After lunch, I was able to rest a bit and make a trip to the grocery store to pick up a few snacks for the evening. At 3:00, parents arrived for my first ever Parent/Teacher conferences. I met with 23 parents in 4 hours. While that really isn't many considering the fact that I'm a brand-new teacher, it was still overwhelming. And the sheer business of being at school until 7:00 was exhausting.

Bright Side: The parents were gracious and sweet, and no one was angry with me.

3. Wednesday was the funny day. I'll set the scene: Wednesday is block day, so I only have odd-numbered classes for 1 1/2 hours each, plus 8th period. After my 3rd period planning, I made my way back to my room, where Coach L teaches Bible during 3rd period.
He hung around, talking to a student longer than usual. My students began to arrive and after my hourly trip to the bathroom, I re-entered my classroom to find everyone frantic. I immediately heard a very loud beeping alarm clock, but none of us could find its source. Coach L stayed to help. We even had a student standing on my desk to check the ceiling tiles because someone had placed an alarm clock in the ceiling of another classroom last year. Eventually, Mrs. S from next door and Coach M from the hall had also come to help with the investigation. Coach M pretended not to hear the sound so that the girls in my class would feel that they were going crazy. It worked for a while. Then he told us that he had played a prank and put the alarm in the ceiling. He was, again, joking. Eventually, Mrs. S and Coach M went to their own classes, and Coach L volunteered to get a ladder because we were all sure it must be coming from the ceiling. About the time he left, Dean M, who is my principal and boss, showed up. I'm not sure who told him about the situation, but he came to see what was going on. I was trying to just continue with class, but my efforts were mostly in vain. As I began to teach, or at least to get my students under control and Coach L went for the ladder, Dean M began to search my room. All of a sudden, I looked up, and he had picked up my teacher bag and put it on my desk as if the sound was coming from my bag. The only thing I could think of that might be making that incessant sound was my cell phone that I knew was on silent. Nevertheless, I got it out of my bag to check, and it was silent. Then we heard the noise again, and I discovered what had happened. The button on the side of my phone that adjusts the volume was being pushed inside my bag continually. It had been my cell phone and my fault all along. There's nothing like having your boss be the one to figure out that your cell phone is incessantly beeping and preventing you and others from having class. Still, after apologizing profusely, I was able to laugh it off and continue with what was left of my class. Coach M caught me in the teacher's workroom this morning (Thursday) to ask about what had happened and to share with the other coaches present the embarrassment of my Wednesday.

As if this alarm incident wasn't enough, I was also caught making grammatical mistakes in my Facebook status by my mentor and department chair, Mrs. S.

Additionally, during the Round-Table discussion in my AP class, I was hit by a paper ball that my students had been using to play a game that they thought I didn't know they were playing. The truth is that I was just happy they were actually talking to me and thinking critically.

Bright Spot: After our daily prayer in 5th period, one student told me that our prayers got her through the day. Another student extended her thought by declaring that my class got him through the day. Those are the comments we live for. I can live on that one for months.

4. Today (Thursday) was the day that Mrs. S had planned to come and observe my class to begin preparing me for the Praxis III observation that I will complete in the Spring in order to recieve my offical teaching license. The bad news is that she makes me nervous, even more so than when I had my offical principal's evaluation. So I had been slightly stressed about her coming to visit the class that is composed of the most unfortunate combination of personalities, abitilities, and circumstances imaginable. I'd spent several fruitless hours trying to be sure that I would not embarrass myself, yet again. But she had to leave school early this afternoon and was unable to come. That's a relief for the day, but it means that I'll just be postponing my stress until sometime next week.

Bright Side: I'm beginning to actually enjoy this class of poor, unfortunate misfits.

God is a Pusher

I've been praying for several years for God to show me who I am supposed to be and give me the strength, courage, and guidance to do what I need to do to become that person. Some days I wish God wouldn't take me so literally. This has been one of those days. Do you know what I mean? One after another, things keep coming up all day long, obstacles that you must overcome. Typically, they are things that you are usually terrible at and struggle to get through, or they make you actively choose the right thing even though it is something you really don't want to do.

God has really been pushing me to grow lately. Yesterday the lesson I had planned for my 9th graders practically fell flat because of something I could not have planned for. It was a really good lesson for me to learn but a pretty huge blow to my fragile confidence in my teaching ability. This afternoon I got a phone call from my co-teacher for the 2 and 3-year-olds class I teach at church on Wednesday night. Her daughter is sick, so she wasn't going to be able to make it. That meant that instead of taking my very-much-needed nap this afternoon before church, I had to go by and get the class materials and plan a quick lesson. It wasn't a very big deal, but I could really have used that nap. Also, I found out today that a friend of mine from high school, who has not talked to me in over a year, lost her grandfather today. And, as a person who has gone through more than her share of family deaths in her short lifetime, more-than-understands how difficult this situation is. And once again, I could hear God asking me to be the bigger person and do the right thing.

I know I asked for this. I get it. But, I'm tired, and I'm starting to resist the push. I love people. Sometimes too much. But it's often lonely when the people thinking and caring about me are silent, and ironically self-absorbed Hailey (because that's who I become when I start to think about how many times I've made myself do the right thing by people lately) forgets that they're there at all.

It is a blessed thing, at these times, to be able to crawl into the big lap of the Father and let him squeeze me tight and tell me that I really am worth it and that I really do have what it takes. It's really too bad that sometimes, even after all the work I've done to overcome it, I still can't feel Him. The good news is that I'm pretty sure He's pushing me closer to Him.

I pray blessings on all of you, readers. I pray that you will know with complete certainty what God wants from you and for you. I pray that you know how much you are loved. And I pray that you can feel His arms around you. And I pray that on those days when you feel like you can't be pushed any further God will provide some sort of escape. Even something as simple as the pure joy in the light of a child's eyes and his sweet voice calling your name. There's a reason we're called to be like little children.